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WWII Reenacting: Following is an article sent in by a member of our club who was able to take part in a large-scale living history event in France during the D-Day 60th-anniversary celebrations this summer. You will find many fantastic pictures from this event on the following pages. Copyright on all pictures by David Gaddis and can be reused with permission only. |
Seine to Seigfried Line
60th Anniversary
By: Dave Gaddis
3rd Armored Division (NWHA)
Last September I rode across France with 17 other Americans as part of a "Seine to Seigfried Line" 60th anniversary "tour". It was organized by a UK citizen in France and consisted primarily of a group of hard core UK vehicle collectors and reenactors who do things like jump into Normandy every year as part of ceremonies there. From lives as maintenance men or foundation officers near London, these living historians play the parts of US GIs with dedication and seriousness, and only their cockney accents and "true Brit" makes one wonder if, in fact, it's not the Queen's own dressed in our WWII-era OD uniforms.This particular outfit is known far and wide for their portrayal of the Second Armored Division, and in this case the 82nd reconnaissance battalion. The goal of the trip was to follow the exact route of this element of the 2AD, nearly to the day, as they broke out and raced across France into the fall of 1944, in the heady days before the brutal winter of the German counteroffensive and the long hard Battle of the Bulge.All us Yanks (real Yanks, that is) met at a tube stop near Heathrow Airport, London. It was kind of different leaving the airport (after the hotel bus) and descending down into the tubes in OD wool and HBT, with nothing but a duffle bag and and an aviator's kit bag. Some of the looks sort of said "You are a long way off from Iraq, Yank", or "Didn't you hear the war ended 60 years ago?"Somehow we all crammed into a GMC, sprawled all over each other and our bags, rode into Camberly (south of London), and got ready for the trip to Portsmouth. The M-8s rode on trailers, and we all split between jeeps and GMCs for the run to Portsmouth and the big ferry to Le Havre, France.On the way down, one of the truck radiators gave out in a gush of steam and water, and there was plenty of time mingling around on the side of the highway to get to know the other "Yanks" a little. As we pulled into Portsmouth and passed a local firehouse, the firemen came out and watched in dismay as the jeeps and ambulances and trucks rolled by. One of them came running towards us and yelled "YOU'RE 60 YEARS TOO LATE!" and waved us off as we passed.We ended up missing our ferry because there was a mass of confusion over the departure time, and they would not let some of the vehicles on because they needed to confirm we had permits for the replica firearms we carried, or something of the sort. The wind kicked up and the rain started by midnight, and I spent the first of many cold nights huddled under some canvas in the back of one of the trucks, laying on lumpy bags and field supplies.Almost like one could imagine the crossing on 6 June, 1944, the water was capped with frothy white rollers and the wind and rain blasted the ferry as we crossed the next morning. Fortunately, they got us cabins on the boat and I dozed for a few hours and dried out a bit, and took the last warm shower for some time to come.At LeHavre we formed up, the M-8s were off-loaded, and we headed off into France, with no escort other than the siren-wailing Harley motorcycles that drove ahead as the MP escort, stopping traffic at roundabouts and announcing to the world that the "mean green parade" was about to appear. Here we were joned by other "re-enactors" from Europe, including some Germans who were so into the American Civil War that they could sing our civil war songs like "Goober Peas"...which they did on occasion. Several had been to most of the major ACW battlefields, and also did a fantastic US WWII impression. One was a real German Army paratrooper in today's Wermacht, who had a beautiful Jeep and WWII era bicycle. Getting to spend time with the Dutch and German reenactors was really enjoyable.The first stop at Caudec Les Elbeuf was a good indicator of things to come. We were greeted in a ceremony inside a local gym, complete with lots of champagne, and a display of wartime posters and photos from France in the 40's. There was big band music and some local resistance veterans who mingled with our group.
After a night spent on the (HARD) floor of another nearby gym, I was ready to depart the snoring symphony that rattled around inside the building and head for Criquebeuf-Sur-Seine (CSS), where we met up with a few more M-8s, some other European vehicle owners (with the correct "82 recon" paint on their rides), and saw the first "farb patrols". This is, of course, where lots of locals dress up as their favorite Allied war heroes (usually airborne types; after all, Band of Brothers was a big hit there also!) and ride around in a variety of vehicles that are sort of, kind of, appropriate period replicas...or something like that. In CSS we provided a color guard for a few 60 year anniversary ceremonies, one with a dramatic pigeon release at the climax, with the rascals flying over the Stars and Stripes, tricolors and French veterans at the culmination. We did some mock "patrol" work around the town (now THAT got some looks) amd took photos on the best set one could imagine for ETO "reenactment"- an actual old French village! Some of the ones converted to black and white look quite convincing.Our next stop was towards Paris at Mantes Les Jolie, where we were forced to make a camp in the rain on a field that serves normally as a field for dog walking, and yes, we dodged the land mines one would expect. 60 years before, on the exact date, 2AD had fought a running battle with German tanks firing down on them from across the river, on the high ground. Several hundred Americans had been killed, and when the Tiger tanks were finally silenced, German casualties were in the thousands, with air and artillery help coming to the rescue of the GIs, who literally fought where we set up camp in a field near the river's edge. Treats left by dogs seemed like a better deal than 88mm shells...This was my final experiment with a "shelter half", from then on I made an entire tent, based on the discovery of an unused half in the convoy. Around 2AM, you see, the rain and wind started in earnest, and it blew under and in my "half" shelter that had been tied to a fence. I was soaked for the most part, and the water had formed nice little puddles on all my gear. Fortunately my cameras were in a plastic bag (I had a few ounces of sense that night!), but I still managed to shiver so hard I had muscle cramps. Delightful. But still no 88s or MG34 greetings, so heck, life was good.Mantes was a good place to leave, and after another stellar morning chow, we folded up our wet stuff and headed towards Beauvais. I had jumped around between a few Jeeps, and finally I was "adopted" by some wonderful Dutch lads in an M-8 named Charlie, and adorned with the number "2". Charlie 2 would be my ride for the most of the trip that followed, with lots of time to appreciate her lovely lines and finer points while roadside for three breakdowns, including a dramatic head gasket failure (deploy smoke!!) as we crossed into Belgium.In Beauvais we had a nice ceremony with French snacks and champagne, but the real highlight (if you could call it that) was the mayor of Beauvais riding in a police car and leading us through a rather strange amusement park, in convoy, amongst bizarre plastic green dinosaurs, giant lady bugs, and variety of rather lame "rides" full of daffy looking French children whose disinterested gazes reflected our own stupifaction at what was happening. I was not quite sure what the message was there, but we were all glad when it was over. At least we had some lovely French blondes visit our encampment later and pose for pictures with the lads atop their war machines. Little French children showed up the day we left and waved American flags as we roared off. (No, no one was burning the flags.)Our next stop was Peronne, where we supposed to have one of our biggest anniversary-of-liberation events. The weather had cleared, and for the first time it began to feel rather amazing riding across rural France sans police, unannounced through town after town, seeing surprised people leave their open windows and quickly return to reappear with the whole family. There seemed to be universal smiles and friendly waves, along with a fair amount of "shock and awe" when we pulled up to a gas station with eight armored cars, a half track full of troops, and the entourage of jeeps, trucks and ambulances that followed.In some of the towns we nearly split up a few times, due to limited sight distances and sharp course changes out of roundabouts. But the real trick was keeping the pace right for all the vehicle types, from the M-8s to the trucks, to the rubber-tracked half track, each vehicle had it strengths and weaknesses. I quickly learned in the M-8 that we needed to keep our "energy" up and fly down hills, because the crunching and grinding down shifts (in the non-synchro gearbox) that followed preceded a painfully slow climp up the next hill. The 16,000 pound, six-wheeled monsters were too much for the little four bangers that strained to get them up the relatively small hills in the rural area of France we crossed.Finally arriving in Peronne, we once again were placed at a camp site well below what we were alledgedly going to get- in this case it was a small field directly in front of a large row of apartments and adjacent to a park field. The nearest toilets and showers were quite a walk away, so once again, when nature called, the bushes and trees were put to use as make shift toilets, especially at night. At first this seemed rather unsavory, but alas, it was France, and when in Rome, do as the Romans!
Peronne is a small town surrounded by the ruins of a Roman wall, and a place that was fairly well overrun by the events of 20th century. The place was essentially destroyed in World War I, and, from the other direction, mostly destroyed in World War II, with a few landmarks somewhat surviving. Liberation and World War II were not distant notions read about in history books, for this part of France, our ousting of the German and Nazi forces remains a sort of huge July 4th.People remember, and many "veterans" of the time are alive and anxious to tell their stories and show some photos. Seeing resistance fighters and their families emerge from the crowd in Peronne was fascinating, and many tales were told, that no doubt get better with each passing year. Many folks who were kids when the 2AD came into town told stories of candy bars from GIs, and every other cliche you may have heard of, or seen in a movie. Only it was all real, and very touching. It was very clear the experience with our troops was very different than the experience the people had with German troops. I will leave it at that. This is not the France that "hates America" that you hear about all the time on angry American AM talk radio.On Liberation Day, September 1st, we went to Peronne and parked all the vehcles in the town square, minus the GMCs, and the public swirled around the vehicles and troops with much affection and attention. French veterans organizations were present, and the US Consulate General from Lille also made an appearance. U.S. and French flags flew around city hall, a pretty old 18th century building destroyed partially in both wars.A gent from Michigan who had been traveling with us doing a General Patton impersonation made a speech to the troops and the crowd in the afternoon. Yes, it was the "your buddy's face is a pile of goo" speech from the movie, and somehow it seemed a little hard core and out of place with the rest of the ceremonies there. Our "Patton" was a retired Ford executive with a striking similarity in appearance to the original "blood and guts". A very nice guy, but the real Patton was nowhere near this route 60 years prior, and it seemed more than a bit silly to have a 3 star general with this small recon element. Apparently he does this impression routinely in Europe, but it was inapropriate in any historical context, and shifted attention away from superb impressions of 98 percent of the trip participants.We attended dedications at other locations in Peronne, and the wool uniform was really starting to get uncomfortable and hot. That evening, despite rumors to the contrary, there was no party for us, so some of the lads and ladies (6 UK females came along as American nurses- the wives of some of the Brits elsewhere in the convoy, plus one American) put on their class A's and gathered at two establishments for lots of drinks and a bit of dinner.The next day we broke out of Peronne and headed into the Somme and towards the border with Belgium, and our next camp site, Rhumes. This was WWI country, big time. Every town had some monument for British, Canadian, or French troops slaughtered in the mayhem of the Somme, from 1916 through 1917 especially. There were cemetaries everywhere, all put in place prior to the second war, and full of markers for the youth of Europe that perished among the 10 million military dead of the "war to end all wars". We stopped once for a vehicle breakdown along a remote country road, and as we waited for the fix to be applied, many of us wandered off into the farm fields to look for remains of war.It did not take long to find more than we would have bargained for- live 75 mm French and German artillery shells, shrapnel, barbed wire pieces, and even a live French grenade stuck in the mud. The tragic enormity of that horrible war seemed for a moment to dwarf even the campaign we were commemorating. If the "Great War" is of interest, make sure you stop by Peronne and see the World War I museum, which is a stunning display. One of the motorcycle MP riders was a Belgian EOD Army type, and he took the live 75mm German shell I found, put it in one of his saddlebags, and rode off. Yikes!, I thought, I hope there are no bumpy roads ahead!Later that day was the highlight of the trip for me, as we stopped at a great WWI (mine)crater in the middle of some farm fields, then struck out across the fields in what looked like a "line of attack". We left the dirt roads and charged into the countryside in a fast moving "reconnaissance in force", nothing but farm land, and sky surrounding us, with far off farm buildings too distant to break the spell. It could easily have looked the same some 60 years ago. I rotated the turret of the M-8 to the right and the left, raised and lowered the 37mm barrel, and watched through the gun site as the vehicles around me churned up swirls of dirt and dust as we bumped and bucked along. It was a heady experience for all, and a sort of "time capsule' we all enjoyed traveling in.The rest of the trip to Rhume was a wildly confusing series of direction changes and route meanders, culminating in a stop at the border with Belgium 10 hours later. It was dark and we were tired and guess what? The campsite was once again not what we had been led to expect. It was a small field near Rhume with knee high (soaking wet) grass, and more than a few complaints were heard, even among the "hard-core". And this group was 3/4 hard-core, let me assure you. I visited the friendly bushes around the edge of the camp, and set up my tent and my own little world, as I had gotten so used to doing. I was too tired to complain.The next day was my last day there, and we greeted 9 WWII 2AD vets in our "campsite", and it became hot, and there were bugs everywhere for the first time. The vets were great, and most wore purple hearts or bronze stars on their hats. An amazing array of vehicles owned by the Belgian locals showed up, from amphibious jeeps to quad - 50 halftacks. But the uniforms were not up to our standards, and they were segregated from the territorial Brits of our 2AD clan.My flight out was from Brussels, and I graciously accepted a ride to the airport from a Belgian reenactor who was going directly by the airport the next day. My 10 day sojourn across France was over, and I was ready to part with some of the uniforms I had worn nearly the whole time. It was hard enough on them, and me, and we were never even shot at- once! Really, this was nothing like the real thing, but it was probably about as close as one could come. It added much to my already considerable appreciation for the "greatest generation".A few observations worth sharing follow. If this sort of thing sounds like your cup of tea, there will be other events, and opportunities to join up for some vehicle treks across Europe, or in parts of Europe. The number one requirement is authenticity, and that is THEIR definition of authenticity, by the way, as we know everyone is an expert when it comes to WWII, especially the British. We had a trip coordinator in the US who was an experienced reenactor and nice guy, but a person who had little use for a computers, so we did everything via "snail mail". This was a mistake, and led to confusion about routes, authenticity issues, and what the "latest" was. Hey- its 2005, if you go on one of these trips get an EMAIL (!!) contact in EU or the USA, which is the common sense thing to do. There were lots of details and changes in the preparation for this trip, and snail mail or phone calls was maddening. It is great to know where you are headed before the trip because it make the trip so much more interesting- you can "read up" on where you were headed.There were things I learned about my equipment that the length of this adventure taught me. For instance, the rough out boondocker service shoes I wore every day were really, really, HARD after a while. My feet were killing me. This is not like a weekend at Fort Stevens, get some cushion liners and thank your lucky stars you are not being authentic! Also, spraying a silicon based "water proofing" material on my shelter half and M41 jacket before I left was really a good idea. Also, buying a compact inflatable sleeping pad was the smarted thing I did. It was not authentic, but it saved my back, and guess what, 90% of the people on the trip had one. Of note, we were very restricted by what we could bring- it was supposed to be one duffle bag per person. It was not even possible to bring along the list of uniform items on their required list in one bag. So we all had two bags and LESS stuff than they required. It all made sense when we got to UK, as they were vehicle owners or had friends who were- so the vehicles had extra bags of supplies squirreled away for each person.Finally, the biggest lesson for me was that World War II in Europe contunies to reverberate across the social fabric of the place like ripples in a pond moving out from where a rock was thrown in, but never really fading away. The number of collectors, reenactors, and enthusiasts for the history of the era is astounding, and the personal connections many people have with the war and the time are profound. Our hobby at NWHA is pursued with authenticity and enthusiasm, but after being on the continent for WWII commemorative activities our events here seem understandibly "backwater" (though no fault of anyone) but expected when one "reenacts" where the events actually happened. Seeing the collectors and reenecators in Europe was a reminder that interest in the era is huge in another scope of the word, almost hard for us to understand in the northwestern USA.My first two nights home I was glad to be in my own bed, but both nights I woke up and walked around inside my house briefly unsure of where I was, and everything I saw was OD green, a vehicle or tent side, and I was momentarily lost. Only the blue glow of my PC on/off button or a wall light switch snapped me out of the state of mind that had me rambling around a camp ground somewhere in France, at night. I never have had this happen before, and it was a testament to how immersive the entire experience was. I can only imagine how it was for our troops when they got home in 1945, after leaving so much of themselves over there, and bringing liberation to so many.
